Collide
by Pereybere
Summary: Their lives were always supposed to collide. But fate wasn't ready to offer them an easy ride.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Collide

**Rating: **Well, eventually, after several thousand words, I am sure this story will reach M. As for this chapter? I say T – because Booth's recent sexual adventures will be mentioned herein.

**Disclaimer: **Fox fucked with our heads with the whole Rebecca/Camille story line. This is my way of getting back at them. I don't think they deserve to own them. But unfortunately, they do and I don't. But I do mean to infringe, because I'm angry with them!

**A/N: **I know I am changing stories like most people change their underwear, but my ideas are just all over the place these days. I normally revisit stories that I have put on hold for awhile. So anyone concerned about neglected WIPs – don't. They aren't forgotten. My second note is, this story is named after the Howie Day song 'Collide' – which featured in the Pilot episode of the show and if you listen to the lyrics, it was a prelude of things to come for Brennan and Booth's relationship.

Don't forget to review!

-o-o-o-

_Even the best fall down sometimes_

_Even the wrong words seem to rhyme_

_Out of the doubt that fills my mind_

_I somehow find_

_You and I collide._

It was a biological urge. Sex. He was a hot blooded male, with the kind of characteristics that appealed to enough women to ensure his urges were always kept satisfied. She understood the biology of it. The science. What she didn't understand was her own feelings.

Pressing her forehead to the glass, watching the cars on the highway beyond the Jeffersonian's lush gardens, Temperance Brennan wondered why she had been feeling so frustrated by Booth and his antics. Each time she looked at him, she felt something different. She had dedicated her life to her work, often suppressing her own sexual urges in favour of hard learning. The truth was, she wasn't as sexually alive as she liked to believe. Despite spouting off a spiel about anthropology and biology, she was afraid she and Booth might not have had anything in common.

And it hurt to think he was too different. He worked to live. She lived to work. Opposites might have attracted, in science this was certainly true. Polar opposites were drawn together in the form of magnets. She and Booth simply didn't have enough in common. She felt disillusioned because secretly she had wondered, in the recesses of her girlish indulgences whether there was a chance he would ever look at her as more than just a scientist or at best, a friend.

When she saw Rebecca she understood that Booth might always have an emotional connection to her, the mother of his son. But the memory of her admitting she had made a mistake by turning down his marriage proposal made her see Booth in something of a different light. She wondered if perhaps she were suffering from the common illness of wanting what she couldn't have. Wanting what was just out of reach.

Sighing, she turned away from the window hating that he was always on her mind. Hating more that her science wasn't going to save her this time. Logic was lost amidst her physical desire and her emotional turmoil. Booth said there were certain people it wasn't right to sleep with, and the question of whether he meant the two of them burned in the back of her heart.

Descending the stairs to the laboratory she watched her colleagues as they milled around, unaware of the pressing weight on her stomach recently. How had her relationship with Booth taken such a drastic turn? And why was it entirely one sided?

Angela grinned as she swiped her card.

"Hey sweetie!" she said, "we're just debating what to listen to on the radio." Brennan cast her gaze across the lab, knowing that it would be entirely unfair to take her annoyance at herself out on anyone else, least of all her best friend.

"No radio," she said. "You know I don't like that, Angela." Lifting her head, she saw Dr Saroyan as she meandered through the tables towards them, her eyes fixed ahead. Brennan felt an inexplicable surge of annoyance shoot along her windpipe and she turned abruptly. "Are the bones cleaned yet, Zach?" she asked, her tone icy.

"For the past hour, Dr Brennan," he said, nodding his head in the affirmative. "I couldn't find you."

"I've been busy, Zach…" she replied, still testy.

"I know, Dr Brennan." She somehow hated his understanding. It would have been easier to accept her own bitchiness if he had been somehow indignant. "I've finished the reports too." She felt her shoulders sag and the breath whoosh from her lungs.

"Is everything alright sweetie? You don't seem yourself." Angela asked, slipping her pencil into her hair. Brennan barely looked up from the bones on the steel gurney.

"Hmm," she replied, running her fingers over the smooth, yellowing surfaces.

"We're going for a drink today after work. Booth's coming too…" Brennan felt the knife twist a little deeper, desperately aware that she needed to shake the feeling of disgust from her stomach. Biological facts swirled around her brain, ineffectual against her own biology. Jealousy. The green eyed monster. Regardless of how hard she tried, her life always seemed to crash head first into his. Professional merged with personal, and the line became indistinguishable.

"I have other things to be getting on with," she said, tucking a plastic portfolio under her arm. Camille had finally made her way to their little group, her dark eyes watching them with stern suspicion. She was always suspected that Hodgins and Zach were conducting experiments without authorisation. Brennan brushed past her.

"And good afternoon to you too, Dr Brennan," Camille said.

"Yes," Brennan called back, "good afternoon Dr Saroyan."

After a long moment, Camille sighed. "She doesn't like me. Does she?" Angela folded her arms, shrugging her shoulders.

"I think she has something on her mind…" she said. "Don't take it personally." Camille slid her hands into her pockets.

"I won't," she said. "I'm well aware of Dr Brennan's little quirks. She's just been especially peculiar for the past few weeks." Camille clicked her tongue. "Must be writer's block or something, hmm? Zach? I might require your assistance today." Hodgins peeled off his gloves.

"Shouldn't you get your own assistant and stop 'borrowing' Dr Brennan's?" Camille turned towards him, her gaze sharp and unforgiving.

"I should. Unfortunately I'm too busy supervising the children of the anthropology department to find time to conduct interviews. My office in an hour, Zach." She spun on her heel, her footfalls as pointed as her words, and Jack smirked when she was gone.

"Back to Brennan," Angela said distractedly. "I think she and Booth have had another fight." Hodgins tossed his soiled gloves in the trash can.

"How's that different to any other day?" he asked. "Brennan is always fighting with Booth. Isn't it part of their, like, chemistry?" Angela pulled on the ends of her bangs, chewing on her lower lip.

"Not like this," she said. "Since his rumoured reconciliation with Rebecca, Bren has been behaving oddly."

"But that wasn't true, was it?" Zach said. "He just…" Together all three nodded in unison. "Dr Brennan understands the importance of sex in human beings," Zach hurried to add. "It's essential for procreation so the body secretes hormones that encourage it. She sees it, not as an emotional thing, but a…" Angela draped her arm around the young assistant's shoulder.

"Sweetie," she said, "who are you trying to kid? Bren is not as mechanical as everyone would like to think." She shook her head. "No. As a best friend, I am certain we're looking at a case of the green eyed monster." Heaving a sigh, she removed her card from her pocket. "I'll have to talk to her."

"Good luck. Brennan's been frostier than an December morning recently," Jack said and Angela smiled.

"Lucky I'm as warm as a July breeze then, isn't it?" And she skipped off, disappearing down the corridor to where she knew Brennan would be brooding in her office.

-o-o-o-

Lots of angst on the way for you angst lovers! Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Collide

**Disclaimer: **They're not mine.

**Rating: **T now. M later.

**A/N: **I hope everyone will enjoy reading this story. Jaed? Have you had a fight with the Internet? You better get your butt back online because I miss talking to you. And Gayle, we need to catch up! Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing not only this story but all my stories!

-o-o-o-

_I'm open, you're closed  
Where I follow, you'll go  
I worry I won't see your face  
Light up again…_

"Knock, knock," he said aloud, tapping his fingers against the glass. She barely looked up, rearranging papers into piles, as systematic and organised as ever. "Angela said you're feeling a little sad today so I brought you some calorie indulgence in the form of hot chocolate." He held the disposable cup in the air, offering her a cheeky, normally disarming grin as he did. "With marshmallows _and_ cream." Brennan gathered her pens together, dropping them into her desk tidy with a series of clicks.

"Why would hot chocolate offer anyone any comfort?" she asked, her tone breezy. "And Angela has no business spreading… what is it you call it… gossip?" Booth sighed, leaving the cup of her desk. She caught the scent of chocolate and fought the urge to inhale it.

"She's just worried about you. Especially when she came by to see if you're okay and you gave her nadda in return." Temperance felt her stomach knot, knowing that she'd been perhaps a little too abrupt with her best friend earlier. She found it difficult to open the gates of her emotions when she had spent so much time in her life ignoring her feelings. In fact she was fairly certain that the lever which opened her emotional floodgates had rusted away.

"Been discussing this in depth, have you?" she asked, shaking off her lab coat. Booth pressed his palm against her desk, bracing his weight awkwardly. She slid her arms into her coat, buttoning it down. "I'm going home," she said, taking a pile of manila folders into her hands, tucking them beneath her arm.

"You forgot your hot chocolate," Booth said, following behind, taking the cup. As she made her way along the airy corridors he stayed only a few paces behind. "Angela thinks you're pissed because of Rebecca." Brennan felt a chuckle rise in her throat and was all too aware that it was forced. She didn't feel like laughing about anything.

"And Dr Saroyan too?" she asked, a touch of icy sarcasm evident in her otherwise impassive tone.

"Well are you?" Booth asked, barely missing a beat. He wasn't sure how she knew about Camille, but the fact that she did caused a sweep of irritation to radiate through his body. Was nothing a secret within the walls of the Jeffersonian?

"Am I what, Booth?" she asked, decidedly bored. Rummaging in her pocket, she located her keys and jingled the rings together, her pace quickening.

"Pissed about Rebecca. And Camille?" The front doors breezed open, sending a chilly autumn breeze into the foyer. Brennan raked her fingers through her hair, shaking her head. Her scoffing laughter, bitter and resentful, was lost to his ears, merging only with the wind. The sky was already dark, only a glimmer of blue still remained. "Are you jealous, Bones? Do you want to sleep with me too?" He wanted to hurt her, and she knew it. He hated that she refused to open up to him. Booth liked to read the inner workings of everyone's mind. Sometimes, she kept her thoughts locked in a vice-grip and he got frustrated when he couldn't penetrate the ice coated steel. He tossed the hot chocolate into the trash can and the lid popped, splashing milky brown liquid across the asphalt.

Brennan spun. "Oh Booth," she said, her tone flawlessly smooth. "I wouldn't want to become another notch on the ever growing list of notches on your bed post. But if there ever is a point when I am _that_ desperate, you'll be the first one to know." She rolled her eyes, signalling her sarcasm. "Until then, Dr Saroyan can be safe in the knowledge that you're all hers," she paused, "and occasionally Rebecca's." Booth looked as though she'd back-handed him across the cheek, his eyes round and wide.

"Uncalled for, Bones," he said. "Besides, I don't see how my personal relationships effect you. We have an excellent working relationship. But that's it." It felt as though he'd tore a knife through her chest. Not her heart, though. No one had the ability to break her heart. She'd ensured it was damned near impossible when she was younger, being tossed from one foster family to another. Apparently she looked stricken, though, for he immediately began to hesitate. "What I mean is… we're working together under a professional contract and…" she lifted her hand, palm up, silencing him.

"I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow." Her long legs carried her across the parking lot with long strides, her muscles fuelled by anger. Either he was propositioning her with sex or he was making fun of her, either way, she felt a surge of fury that swelled inside her chest, making her breathe heavier. She was losing her calm, and the longer she dwelled on his words, the angrier she got.

Unlocking her car, she stamped down on the urge to turn around, to see if he was still watching. Curiosity scorched, but she refused to acknowledge it. These days she'd been finding herself a little too involved with Seeley Booth. She wasn't sure when, in her mind, their relationship had taken a personal turn. At least on her part. But suddenly, she was reading into the linger glances and willing her heart to be still.

Starting her car, she reversed, catching a glimpse of Booth in her rear-view mirror. Beside him, Dr Saroyan stood, hands on her hips, shaking her head. Brennan clicked her tongue, flicking on the radio and pressing her foot hard to the accelerator. When she met Booth she had always known he had a certain about of sexual power, but she never imagined him to be a Casanova.

Curling her fingers tight around the steering wheel, she wished there were someone impartial that she could discuss her feelings with. Someone who didn't know Booth. But everyone, even Russ, knew about their relationship. Or lack thereof.

The radio blasted oldie rock and roll and she tried to lose herself in the sound of it, but rush hour traffic delayed her progress in getting home, and the slow going allowed her too much time to dwell on her feelings. Each time his name flashed before her, she tried to turn her feelings into something else – tried to write her emotions off as a pathetic surge of compassion. Of genuine concern for her partner. It irritated her to know that she was trying to fool herself by telling blatant lies. Booth, with all his faults, had become a symbolism of everything that she wanted in her life. Stability, righteousness, sexiness and suddenly, like a bolt from above, she had to look at him in a less appealing light. She had to see him as a serial dater, a man who barely slipped back into his pants before he was jumping into bed with someone else.

Forcing a sigh from her lips, she took the nearest exit, preferring to go to the gym instead of home. Impossible as it would be to sleep, eat or even read a book, she liked the idea of releasing her accumulated energy in a way that was at least beneficial for her body.

-o-o-o-

Aww, a little bit of angst never hurt anyone. Please review. You know how I like reviews.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Collide

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Rating: **Eventually M. Not yet, though.

**A/N: **Please, please review!

-o-o-o-

She released a cry, slamming the bottom of her foot into the punch-bag. It flew back, until it was almost horizontal, then careened back towards her, whooshing through the air. She was ready for it though, her fingers curled into hard fists, colliding where she imagined a persons abdomen would be.

A trickle of sweat slid along her temple, along her cheek. Too distracted to wipe it away, Brennan continued her violent, unforgiving assault on the punch-bag. With each punch and accompanying kick, she felt a piece of her annoyance disappear.

"Whoa. Easy there, Dr Brennan." She ignored the voice in the doorway, ducking to avoid the heavy swing of the bag, before laying another kick into the smooth red leather. "Bad day?" She saw the figure in her line of sight, tall and broad, and felt her gaze flicker towards him for a nanosecond. Unfortunately it was too long, and the punch-bag slammed into her, catching her off guard. Brennan fell back, landing on the navy blue mats with a thud.

Leaning over her she saw liquid aluminium eyes and a cheeky smile. "What do you want, Ryan?" she asked, pulling a breath into her lungs. The fitness instructor offered her his outstretched palm.

"Friendly concern, Temperance," he said, his fingers curling around hers. She allowed him to help her, finding her feet quickly.

"So it's Temperance now, is it?" she asked breezily, taking the punch-bag into her hands, bringing the still swinging target to a stop. Ryan chuckled, folding his arms across his chest.

"Do you prefer Dr Brennan?" he asked. "Kinky." She shot him a sideways glare, tapping the punch-bag with her knuckles.

"You should be a politician," she said. "You're an expert at avoiding the question." Ryan sighed, pressing his palm against the wall, bringing himself into her line of sight, so close it was impossible to avoid his presence.

"You've been coming here for months, Temperance," he said. "Can't you even find it in yourself to be a little bit friendly? I've been trying for awhile to break through the walls…" Brennan dropped her arms by her side, smirking a little.

"Wouldn't that suggest I'm not interested?" she asked, lifting a tapered eyebrow. He shrugged.

"I find it difficult to take a hint," he said.

"Apparently," she replied, pulling a towel from her gym bag, drying the moisture on her neck. "I'm sorry if I seem a little hostile." Ryan offered her a toothy grin.

"Really?" he asked and Brennan sighed.

"Really. Sorry for being hostile. But that still doesn't mean I am interested." She shoved her towel into her bag, slinging it across her shoulder. As she made her way to the showers, Ryan followed, their footfalls almost silent as they padded across the mats.

"And as hostile as ever," he joked. "Alright. Look, I hold my hands up," he did, palms to her, "and admit that I find you intriguing. Not only because I feel sorry for any person who his dealt a kick from you, but also because you're… different… and I'd like to take you for a coffee." Brennan paused at the entrance to the showers, her head down.

"I've been offered hot chocolate _and_ coffee today," she said, as if to herself. "And it's no substitute for hard liquor." Ryan laughed.

"A whisky then. A brandy?" Brennan sighed.

"No thanks. I don't have time for dating." It felt like the truth, but a weight of guilt pressed heavily on her heart as she undressed in the showers, stepping beneath the fine, hot spray. What was she holding out for? For Booth? Brennan scoffed at the thought. She felt a large amount of animosity towards Booth these days. Too much to actually believe their relationship would go anywhere.

Smoothing coconut crème over her skin, she questioned her reasons for turning Ryan down. He was a classic example of raw masculinity, with chiselled features, firm muscles and a charming smile. If she wanted to throw caution to the wind she could easily have accepted a quick date with him, even if it was only for coffee. But she was too honest. To herself, at least. Accepting a date from the fitness instructor would be a vile, childish way of proving to Booth that she was more than capable of stepping beyond the parameters of celibacy. Perhaps her horny partner thought she was frigid. That she didn't need sex.

She wasn't childish enough to want to disprove his theories.

Rinsing her hair, Brennan thought of Camille, the woman who she tried not to hate. Brennan didn't understand jealousy. There was no redeeming value in the emotion. It was wasted energy. And she wasn't jealous that Camille Saroyan was promoted over her head. But she _was_ jealous when she imagined her naked body riding Seeley Booth, screaming out his name. Especially when she'd spent too many – far too many – nights imagining herself in that same, euphoric situation. However in Booth's words, they were partners. Nothing more.

In her gym bag she heard her cell-phone shrill, and with soapy hands, she located it at the bottom, the little device vibrating against her fingers. "Brennan," she said, dabbing her eyes with her towel, which had fallen from her bag in her haste and was soaked in foamy water.

"Brennan," she said, wrapping the saturated towel around herself.

"Are you busy?" She felt herself sigh, a pressing weight crushing down on her ribs.

"Yes, I am." Her tone pitched, sharp and precise. She didn't want to hang up her phone, or play into his curiosity. He might suspect that she really was feeling jealous. She was too strong and determined to let such foolish emotions become a factor. "Do you need me for something or can it wait?"

And then there was Rebecca, she thought, almost as if her mind were working by itself. She frowned, her eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on his voice, tinny and echoing through the telephone line. Hadn't he portrayed his son's mother to be a manipulative bitch? Apparently a good, satisfying ride erased the years of hurt she had inflicted upon him. Classic mind games to which he played to easily into. He was a fool. With each passing second, she lost another piece of her respect. Suddenly she saw Booth not as the heroic, brave sniper and brilliant detective but instead as a vulgar sexual time bomb, waiting to explode. A man ruled by his penis. A stereotype.

She shuddered.

"Are you listening to me?" Booth snapped, apparently bored and no longer tolerant of her frosty behaviour.

"No," she admitted. "Do you need me at the lab?" Booth sighed now, an impatient growl, almost.

"Let me paraphrase for you, Bones. We have a dead girl. Raped. Murdered. We need you. Have you got a pen?" She looked around the stark walls, moist with steam and blinked.

"I'm at the gym. In the shower." A long silence followed and her mind worked overtime. Was he imagining her naked? Was his insatiable libido jumping to attention, now? She felt her skin prickle. "Don't," she warned, still hostile. "Call me back in fifteen minutes and I will take the address." Without waiting on a goodbye, however polite and civilised that might have been, Brennan snapped her phone shut and dug her fingers into her dripping hair, pressing against her scalp.

There was a reason why she didn't want to be in a relationship. They were just _too_ damn difficult.

.-o-o-o-

Been busy this week folks. Work calls. However I am off for two days, so hopefully there'll be two more chapters within the next few days!

Here's hoping there's no little obstacles thrown in my way!

Please review!


End file.
